The Underworld God Xithorn
"So what if you destroyed my body? There's nothing you can do to stop me…"
Agatha's soul rushed into Xu Mo's sea of consciousness, triumphant.
But her voice faltered when she beheld what stood at its center. A towering construct shimmered as if it existed in another dimension—an astral fortress, the Star Tower. The aura emanating from it prickled her skin and made her hair stand on end.
Her eyes flicked nervously from the Star Tower to Xu Mo, who stood beneath it, calm and unyielding.
"Boy… you truly surprise me. To think you harbor such a treasure within your body!"
She raised her hand, and with a wave, a book appeared in her palm—bound in black, radiating corrupt energy.
"The Darkhold," Xu Mo muttered under his breath. He recognized it instantly. Though this was only a manifested copy, its contents mirrored the original tome—every cursed spell etched within.
Agatha smirked, confidence returning. "With this book, nothing can stop me."
Dark energy spilled from the pages, twisting into tendrils that lashed toward Xu Mo. "Surrender your soul!" she commanded, pity in her eyes as though his resistance were already futile.
The Darkhold—the Book of Sins—was no ordinary grimoire. It was the first tome of black magic, written by the Elder God Xithorn, the father of chaos and creator of all dark sorcery. It corrupted every hand that touched it, magnifying its wielder's powers while consuming their soul.
The tendrils coiled tightly around Xu Mo—until the Star Tower above him stirred.
The ninth vortex encircling the tower shuddered. A pulse of strange energy, foreign yet infinite, surged forth as though reaching across dimensions.
The tendrils of the Darkhold withered on contact, annihilated in an instant.
Agatha's expression broke. She poured out more of the Darkhold's might, unleashing torrents of shadow to resist. But they fared no better—the alien energy swept through them as though they were smoke.
"No!" she shrieked, as the wave engulfed her. Her soul was torn apart, erased completely from Xu Mo's sea of consciousness.
Silence fell. Only the Darkhold remained, drifting slowly in the void.
Xu Mo's eyes narrowed. He was not surprised the Star Tower had crushed Agatha. A weapon of God-King caliber—its authority was absolute. How could a mere witch hope to stand against it?
Still, the Darkhold was a prize beyond measure. If he could master it, his shortcomings against mystical enemies would vanish. The Darkhold stood as the dark counterpart to the Book of Vishanti itself—the pinnacle of black magic.
He stepped forward, reaching for it.
But before his fingers touched the tome, the Star Tower trembled. The Darkhold pulsed once, then dissolved into light, sucked into the tower's depths as though claimed by a higher authority.
---
Meanwhile—
In a dark dimension beyond mortal comprehension, a colossal being stirred. Its body was a storm of shadow and chaos without end. Two ancient eyes opened.
Xithorn.
The Elder God of Chaos. The creator of the Darkhold.
"My power…" His voice reverberated like thunder across the abyss.
He felt it immediately—his essence was being drained, rapidly, violently. In less than two breaths, a tenth of his strength was gone.
He probed the cause. Normally, when mortals cast black magic, they siphoned threads of his power. It was always a bargain—power in exchange for their inevitable corruption.
But this?
"Wrong," Xithorn growled. "This is no summoning… this is theft."
He tried severing the connection, but the drain continued unchecked. His roar shook the dimension. Never before had his will been defied in such a way.
"This isn't borrowing. This is robbery!"
Fury rose, but so too did clarity. One of the four ancient Elder Gods, Xithorn mastered control of his rage. First, he had to survive.
He conjured vast sigils of purple flame. Endless tides of dark energy from his own dimension surged into him, replenishing what was lost. Slowly, painfully, he stabilized.
But the thief had to be found.
Xithorn's awareness extended, threading through the multiverse. His whisper was a curse, echoing across realms:
"Damn thief… once I find you, I will burn your soul for a million years in the flames of Hell."
And then—he found it.
Excitement flashed through the god's vast consciousness. "There you are."
He projected his will. His awareness pierced into Xu Mo's world. Though he could manifest but a fragment of his might, even that fraction carried apocalyptic weight.
Deep in the caverns of Wundagore Mountain, black energy bled through stone etched with ancient glyphs. From the shadows, a tome condensed—the true Darkhold, the original.
And before it, a black portal opened, a doorway to Xithorn's will.
With a mere thought, the Darkhold flashed and vanished, pulled into the gate.
The Elder God had entered the game.